"That new bear next door has black spots. I do not trust bears with black spots. They are not like my kind of bear."

"Now, Mister Honey Bear, that's a silly reason to hate a new neighbor. In fact, I think it's complete horsefeathers. Why don't you tell me the actual reason you don't like the new neighbors?"

"I don't like the new neighbors because they're part of a group of people that have been consistently blocked from political and economic power by my people for centuries, on the basis of them somehow being a temporal threat if they were ever to escape from under our heel. Having them around reminds me of that, and I don't want to feel bad about myself or critically examine the political structures created by my ancestors, so it's easier to project all my bad feelings onto the neighbors."

"So why did you give me a silly story about hating the neighbors for their appearance?"

"Because this is a children's book and we have to introduce kids to racism slowly, using crummy tropes that they'll have to unlearn later."

"Why not just tell them the truth now?"

"You know how kids are. If we tell them the truth they're going to ask difficult questions and then we'll look like unauthoritative fools for being unable to answer."

"So what's so important about your authority?"

"What's important is that I don't want them to learn the hard way about touching a hot stove. It's easier if they just obey me without question."

"So what happens when they finally need to make their own decisions?"

"Why then, they shall be guided by the traditions of their ancestors."

"But what happens when none of those traditions are helpful?"

"Then the world has ended anyway and they've either gone to heaven or to hell."

"For God's sake, if you're not going to tell them about racism I will."

"Good luck, then. Don't ask for my help."

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